


Scared

by orphan_account



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:56:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the scouting mission gets nearer, the blue team prepares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Little Deimos/EMG ficlet for Eli while I procrastinate writing Trouble. Thanks for planting the seed of inspiration, dear! <3

"Are you scared?"

Deimos glanced up, looked over Abel's blonde head toward the clock on the wall. Still early, enough time to finish their conversation and return to the other side of the mess before Cain came in for lunch. It was easier for everyone that way, to just pretend that he and Abel didn't know each other and save them both the fall-out.

"Deimos?" Abel asked, voice barely audible over the chatter around them.

He glanced at the clock again, even when he knew what it said. Still enough time to finish their conversation, but suddenly all he wanted to do was return to the other side of the mess hall and wait alone for Cain to come.

Abel's chest expanded, about to say something else. Deimos said "No."

His chest deflated again, and then suddenly Deimos watched a pale hand slide toward him across the table. When Abel's fingers slid across the back of his hand, Deimos stayed still, allowed Abel's palm to cover his.

"It's OK," Abel said, leaning forward. Deimos still wasn't looking at him; only let his gaze rise as far as the collar of Abel's white jacket. "I would be scared."

Deimos swallowed, knew what Cain would say if he heard that. Deimos knew what he  _should_  say, what was expected of him:  _Pussy little navigator, of course you'd be scared._  Didn't say that though, couldn't bring himself to. He looked up, finally met Abel's gaze, the wide-eyed, concerned look. "I'm scared."

Abel nodded, looked almost relieved. Then suddenly he retracted his hand, leaving Deimos' feeling cold and bare. The answer to his abandonment arrived a moment later, however, in the form of Ethos.

"Hey, guys," he said, taking a seat next to Abel. His eyes turned to Deimos, smile faltering. "How are you?"

"Fine," said Deimos, folding his hands together beneath the table, trying to fill the empty space Abel had left behind.

Ethos glanced at Abel, then around at the dining hall, but they were alone at their table, and no one nearby was paying them any attention. "Are you ready?" Ethos asked, voice upbeat and casual, even when he was watching Deimos with downturned eyes.

"Yes." He got to his feet. It still wasn't time to meet Cain, but it was close enough, and at least with Cain, Deimos knew he wouldn't have to suffer through any pity.

"Deimos, I didn't—"

"It's fine," Deimos said, giving Ethos a smile. "I'll see you two later…to say goodbye."

Ethos opened his mouth, but Abel put a hand on his arm to quiet him. Ethos pressed his lips together and frowned down at the table as Abel said, "We'll see you."

Deimos walked away, rejoining the fighters on their side of the mess hall. He glanced back when he reached a mostly-empty table, saw his two blond friends talking quietly. He could only see Abel from his position, but even from across the room, he could see the anxious look on his face, the way his hand was clamped down hard on Ethos' shoulder.

When someone set a tray down just across from him, Deimos jerked his eyes away. Not fast enough, evidently, since Cain looked toward Abel and Ethos and then turned back to give Deimos an accusing glare. "You looking at something?"

He hardened his expression, trusted in the fact that Cain never cared to know him well enough to tell when he was lying. "No."

That didn't stop him from trying, though, his gaze roving hard across Deimos' features. In the end, he just said, "Tch," and started eating.

Deimos just sat, gaze flicking between the two blond navigators and Cain. Eventually, when the silence became too much to bear, when his mind had nothing left to do but dwell on the upcoming departure date, he said, "How's training?"

One of Cain's hands disappeared beneath the table, as though he were trying to cover up the new scratches along his knuckles, the ripped skin and smears of blood. He grunted, but didn't say anything else.

Deimos pressed his palms flat against the tabletop, taking a few long, slow breaths. When Cain said, "Hey," he startled, glancing up. Cain gave him an annoyed look at his twitchiness, and added, "The fuck is wrong with you today?"

And Deimos knew Cain didn't do pity, but he had still expected something, some acknowledgement that he was leaving for a suicide mission in a few short days. "Nothing," was all he said.

"Tch," said Cain. He took a few bites of the slop on his tray, but he didn't look away from Deimos. "You ready, then?"

Deimos blinked, searched his mind for any assignment Cain had given him, something Cain might have been expecting from him, but he came up blank.

"Don't tell me you forgot that Bering's got you bent over, just waiting to be fucked hard."

Deimos just gave him a blank stare, too distracted to try to decipher Cain's crassness. "What?"

"Tch," Cain said again, sneering. "The scouting mission—are you fucking ready?"

Surprised, Deimos nodded before he could think more about it. "Yes."

Cain just watched him, trying again to read him when he didn't even know which page to start on. Then he just shrugged and started eating again. "Well, try not to die. It's a bitch to train a bitch."

#

It was late when Deimos got back to his room. He paused just outside the door, listening for any sounds from within. He had been purposely staying away since he'd learned they were being sent on a scouting mission. Athos had been a mess afterward; too tightly wound, trying too hard to pretend that he wasn't one good scare away from jumping out of his skin. Deimos could only take so much, could only  _fuck_  so much in one night, even when Athos seemed insatiable, begging for it, as though he were trying to get in a lifetime of fucks before they were shipped off to die.

 _Just a scouting mission,_  Deimos thought to himself for the thousandth time.  _Just a scouting mission. We'll be back._

The door hissed open. Almost at once, Athos sprang up, raising himself into a sitting position from his bed. "Where've you been?"

Deimos stripped off his jacket, headed to the bathroom as Athos pushed the sheets back and got to his feet.

"Deimos!" There was a bang on the door.

Deimos ignored him in favor of splashing his face with cold water.

" _Deimos!_ "

Fuck, if their neighbors heard Athos bitching again…. Deimos slammed a hand against the touchpad. The door opened.

Athos fell against him half a second later, fingers tripping through Deimos' hair, down his cheeks and jaw, breath hot in Deimos' face.

"Where—have you—been?" Athos asked again, in between kisses down Deimos' jaw, fingers falling to Deimos' pants and starting to push them down his hips.

"Out," Deimos said, but Athos didn't even seem to care, too busy getting his mouth around Deimos' soft cock and sucking until it started to harden.

"I've been waiting for you," Athos said, pulling off Deimos' cock and working it hard with his hand instead. "I saw you today, in the mess." Blue eyes flashed upward to pin Deimos with an accusatory look. "With Abel."

Deimos wasn't sure whether he should be exasperated or amused. In the end, he didn't get a chance to express either emotion, since Athos suddenly pulled away, buck-naked, long legs flexing as he lunged toward the medicine cabinet, getting it open and then pulling down the lube. In seconds he had spread his legs, one hand reaching up to grip the edge of the sink, slick fingers of the other pushing inside himself.

Deimos just watched, barely got to appreciate the way Athos' stomach flexed when he pressed deep, or how his cock was leaking onto the floor, before he was back on Deimos. He pulled Deimos onto the cold floor, rolled him onto his back, then wiggled down onto his cock.

"Fuck," Deimos muttered. Athos' mouth opened as he sat down hard, ass flush against Deimos' thighs, rocking his hips back and forth, hands braced on Deimos' chest.

"I was there," Athos panted, glancing over his shoulder as he ground down hard on Deimos' lap.

Deimos frowned, hands settling on Athos' slim hips. "What?"

"I was there," he said again, stopping the hard little rocking motions to raise himself up and then drop back down, thighs trembling. " _Oh._  I was t—there. You could have sat with me."

"Fuck, Athos," Deimos muttered, getting a hand around Athos' cock to shut him up.

" _Deimos_ ," Athos whined, trying to push his hand away.

"Shut up," Deimos said, planting his feet on the floor and shoving up with his hips. He pushed Athos' cock up toward his stomach at the same time, scrubbing hard over the head with the palm of his hand.

Athos moaned, high-pitched and keening, coming across his own stomach, muscles clenching down hard on Deimos' cock and dragging him over as well. Afterwards, Athos fell forward, blond hair drooping across Deimos' face, breath hot against Deimos' neck. Deimos groaned and pushed him away, just far enough to slip out of Athos' body, to shift Athos to the floor instead of Deimos' chest.

Athos didn't move far, though, looped an arm across Deimos' chest and tossed a leg over his stomach, softening cock pressing up against Deimos' hip.

"You never want to sit with me," he said, and Deimos could feel Athos' eyes on him, waiting for an explanation. "Why do you spend so much time with Abel?" His tone turned sour on the last word, and Deimos didn't have to look at him to picture the sneer curling his lips.

"He's my friend."

Athos was quiet. The hand on Deimos chest began tracing patterns on his skin. "I'm your friend."

Deimos stilled, kept his face averted. "Come on," he said, trying to make his voice gentle. He sat up, disengaging himself from Athos. "We need to rest up."

He waited for Athos to get to his feet, watched him exit the bathroom; back stiff, a flush coloring the bit of exposed neck Deimos could see when his long hair shifted. When he heard the creak of the bed, Deimos stood as well and cleaned up the bathroom, splashing some more water on his face before he turned off the light and entered the main room.

He could see Athos' huddled shape on the lower bunk, facing the wall. He was curled into a ball, only taking up one third of the mattress. Deimos sat down next to him, putting a hand on Athos' shoulder. Athos shrugged him off, but when Deimos pulled the covers down and pressed up against Athos' back, he didn't try to push him away.

"Are you scared?" Deimos asked just to cover the silence, to smooth things between them.

Athos hesitated, then turned in Deimos' arms, shifting so they were face-to-face. "No," he said, voice defiant.

Deimos smiled, pressed his lips to Athos' before he could say anything about it. When he pulled away, Deimos ran a hand through the soft blond hair, pushing it back from Athos' forehead. "Yeah," he whispered, "me neither."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haaaaaaaaaa I've lost the ability to drabble, so HERE HAVE MORE CHAPTERS <3
> 
> -Em

It was too warm when Deimos woke. It was a surprise; the Sleipnir ran cold, not hot. Deimos was more likely to wake up freezing than sweating. When he tried to sit up, however, he realized the reason. Athos was sprawled across his front, arm and leg thrown across Deimos' body, head tucked under Deimos' chin and breathing hot down his chest.

Deimos glanced toward the clock on the wall; too early, earlier even than his alarm. He sighed, closed his eyes and tried to fall back asleep. That's when he felt Athos' breath quicken. For a moment, Deimos thought he was waking up as well, going to make Deimos fuck him before they left for the day, but he didn't do anything except tighten his grip on Deimos, his breath shuddering from his lungs.

Deimos frowned, lifted a hand and ran it down the smooth expanse of Athos' back. He paused when Athos whimpered, something wet trickling onto Deimos' chest. Not drool, Deimos realized when he lifted a hand to Athos' face: his cheeks were wet. He hesitated, unsure if he should wake Athos when he made another distressed noise. In the end, he didn't have to. Athos jolted upright a few seconds later, cheek peeling away from Deimos' skin. Deimos closed his eyes, pretended to sleep as he felt Athos pull away from him, taking the blanket with him and exposing Deimos to the chill of the room.

Then Athos was climbing over him, leaving the bed. Deimos squinted in the dimness, just in time to watch the bathroom door slide open and Athos disappear inside, wiping his face as he did so. Deimos considered going after him, but only for a second. Then he was rolling over, pulling the covers back up and closing his eyes.

Didn't fall asleep though, was aware of the exact moment when the bathroom door opened again and Athos exited. He waited for Athos to rejoin him, to crawl back over Deimos and snuggle up against his front, but he never did. He heard Athos walk toward him, then suddenly heard him grunt, the upper bunk creaking as Athos settled in. Deimos opened his eyes again, looked at the clock. He watched the numbers turn until the alarm went off, listening to Athos' ragged little breaths in the meantime.

They got ready in silence, both of them gathering their things, pulling on their clothes, not looking at each other. Athos left first, slipping out the door without his jacket fully on, not pausing to say goodbye. Deimos waited a few minutes, just to be sure he wouldn't run into Athos on his way downstairs, before he left too.

He made his way down, passing a few drowsy-faced navigators, and even more sour fighters. Deimos kept to himself, trailing one hand along the wall of the corridors he walked, taking the lift down to his level, joining the sea of black.

He got into a flight simulator first, not awake enough to get groped by some brute for sparring practice. Deimos always forgot how disappointing the simulators were until he got in one; too fake, too open and forgiving, with glass walls and another fighter on either side. Then there were the officers watching, walking back and forth, and scrutinizing every move.

It wasn't anything like actually being out in space, cramped and cold. The simulators were all about thinking, about impressing, but they didn't require any of the fast reactions, the lightning-quick plans that Deimos was good at.

He didn't stay in one long enough to draw attention to himself, got out before either of the officers could look his way and critique him. The combat simulators were all in use, red lights streaming into the dark hallway as Deimos walked through. He headed to the sparring room for lack of anything else to do, and with another twenty minutes of free-training before his schedule started.

He was paired up with Nereid almost as soon as he entered the room; one of the officers' little jokes, trying to find someone big enough to crush Deimos between both palms if they got a chance. Deimos made sure to never give them a chance.

Nereid still managed to clock Deimos hard across the face when he wasn't expecting it, though, throwing off Deimos' balance and making his vision blur. He told himself to hold it together, to  _focus_ , but then he felt Nereid's arms clench tight around him, muscles bulging, and Deimos could hear whoops around him from watching fighters.

He struggled, got a hand free to slip his knife out, bringing it up. Then suddenly he was free; an officer stepping in to knock the knife of Deimos' hand.

"Little shit," he said, hauling Deimos up by the front of his shirt. "How many times I got to tell you that's cheating?"

Deimos didn't say anything, let himself be rattled around until he was dropped back to the floor. He scrambled to his feet, aware that there were still fighters all around him, that Nereid was still watching him, sweaty and keen-eyed. Deimos picked up his knife, making it obvious, making the threat known, waiting….

The intercom distracted them all; a monotone, mechanical voice saying, "Blue team fighters report to training facility one for a briefing. Repeat: Blue team fighters report to training facility one."

Quiet again, until one of the officers snorted and threw Deimos a dismissive look. "Well? Better run off then; at least somebody wants you."

Deimos turned, pushed his way through the jeering crowd, gritting his teeth as he finally made it out into the hall. He glanced around, slipped the knife back up his sleeve and continued walking.

Training facility one was one of the smaller arenas, and Deimos came in just before Encke and Bering entered from the other side, stepping up onto the platform at the front of the room.

Encke plunged in with no prelude, clapping his hands together to get everyone's attention. "At 0600 tomorrow, you're shipping out," he said. "You know the plans, you know the goal." His eyes narrowed, lips tightening as he looked around. "This is a  _scouting mission_. This isn't the time to act like a bunch of brain-dead heroes; stealth is the objective. So I want you all to toe the line, am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," they all said in response.

"I said,  _am I clear_?" Encke emphasized.

"Yes, sir!"

Encke's expression relaxed a fraction. "Good."

Bering stepped in then, frowning down at all of them. "We've reserved all the flight simulators for the rest of the day," he said. "You're to report there immediately after this briefing, where you'll get more instruction."

He turned to Encke and spoke to him quietly. Encke nodded and abruptly turned on his heel, exiting the room again. Bering surveyed the fighters once more, eyes lingering on Deimos before he looked away and said, "Dismissed."

Deimos let the other fighters leave, slowly exiting after everyone else, eyes lingering on Bering's back as he exited after Encke. He turned back once though, still such a soldier at heart; always aware when he was being watched. He caught Deimos' eye again, frowning.

Deimos just gave him a little nod, a little smirk, and left. Bering always did know when he was being watched; meant that he knew Deimos had followed him before; all on Cain's orders—not that Bering knew  _that_. But Bering was a smart guy; a good soldier, and good soldiers always looked out for themselves first, because if they didn't, no one else was going to. So he kept his mouth shut, no harm in it as long as he thought Deimos had something on him, but wasn't using it yet.

The flight simulators were just as boring as before, but with the added stress of Encke breathing down their necks the whole time. At the end of a few hours, when Deimos' legs had begun to cramp and he was sweating through his suit, Encke finally gave them a break for lunch.

Deimos gratefully climbed out of the simulator, considering going up to lunch. He wasn't sure if he could handle it though, not Abel and Ethos' sympathy, not Cain's indifference. Not on the last day before a mission.

So he stayed away, headed back down a level, heading to the balcony above the sparring ring, content to watch the fighting from above. Most people had cleared out at that point, all heading to the mess, but there were still a few fights going on. Deimos' eyes immediately caught sight of Cain, brawling with someone Deimos didn't know, not quite as burly as Nereid, but just as mean-looking.

This was Cain's favorite training; the kind where he could still get away with fighting and it was considered practice. There were still officers around watching though; making sure things didn't get too hairy. Deimos could see Cain holding himself back, not going for the obvious, truly detrimental moves that he could get away with below decks when no one important was watching.

He wasn't as good at fighting as he liked to pretend. Deimos might have been smaller than Cain, but he was faster, smarter. Cain always reacted too much, was a bit  _too_  quick to throw a punch, to dodge a blow. It made him easy to guess, to plot his reactions to every move.

"Your boyfriend's getting his ass beat."

Deimos looked up. There was Nereid, large and imposing, leering at him, having just climbed up the ladder to the balcony. "Yeah," he said.

"So, what do you say, sweetheart? Want to go another—"

Deimos swung the knife around before Nereid had finished his sentence, catching him off-guard and cutting a large strip in the black cloth at his chest. His suit opened, and Deimos could see a red scratch opening up on the skin just beneath.

Nereid looked down at himself, sneering. "You always were a cheating bitch."

Deimos shrugged, inching to the side, Nereid's eyes following his every move. "If you can't handle it…."

Nereid growled as he lunged forward, brutish paws slipping at Deimos' arms as he dodged out of the way. He managed to land a blow to Nereid's side, but he hardly seemed to feel it, jerked an elbow into Deimos' face to send him reeling back against the black banister.

He ducked under Nereid's outstretched arm as he lunged toward Deimos again. He managed to snake a hand up, jab at Nereid's neck hard enough to make him stumble, but he was quick to recover, throwing out a leg that just barely brushed against Deimos' stomach.

"Quick little bitch," Nereid commented as Deimos jumped out of reach again. Nereid came at him once more, and Deimos saw his chance. He gripped Nereid's outstretched wrist and then ducked under his arm, dragging Nereid's arm behind his back. Deimos sank a foot in Nereid's lower back, sent him crashing to the floor, crying out when his arm bent back painfully far.

Deimos sat down on Nereid's back, stepping down on his other arm. He leaned forward to whisper in Nereid's ear, breathing in the stench of sweat and filth. "Say uncle."

Nereid grunted, spat out a harsh, "Fuck you."

Deimos pushed his arm up a little further and Nereid grunted, back straining to relieve the pressure.

"Say it," Deimos whispered, shifting his arm up a little more.

"Uncle!" Nereid snapped. "Uncle, you fucking cunt!"

Deimos waited for a moment, just feeling Nereid's hard body struggle underneath him. Then he got to his feet.

Nereid groaned when he got his arm back, rolling onto his back and cradling it to his chest. He got quickly to his feet, red-faced and sneering at Deimos.

Deimos could see the fight building up within him, wanting to lash out and get retribution for being bested by someone half his size. Deimos just waited, watched as Nereid dropped his arm to his side and winced, watched as he realized that being laid out flat on his stomach once was better than twice. He spat on the ground at Deimos' feet before he turned and walked away.

Deimos heard the latter clanging as Nereid descended, then saw his form cross the sparring room and out the far door. Deimos turned to look back at Cain, slipping the knife back up his sleeve and leaning against the metal banister. Cain took a hard kick to the stomach as Deimos watched, doubled over as though his partner hadn't blunted it at all—which he probably hadn't. Deimos watched as Cain wheezed, struggled to get to his feet. Deimos watched as Cain lost.

The remaining fighters filed out after that, heading to the mess. After a few long minutes, Cain was the only one left, still on his knees, staring at the ground. Deimos could see his shoulders rising and falling even from up above. Eventually, Cain put both hands on the floor and hoisted himself to his feet.

He paused there for a moment, one arm curled around his abdomen. Then he walked toward a nearby bench and picked up his jacket. Deimos stayed where he was as Cain walked toward him, passing under the balcony toward the door. He hesitated again, glancing back over his shoulder at the empty training room once more before leaving.

Deimos couldn't help but smile at that. Cain's fighting could use improving, but he was as paranoid as Bering; a good soldier in the making.

#

Deimos couldn't avoid Ethos and Abel for very long. They found him when he was heading back to his room at the end of the day, dragged him to a secluded alcove by his room.

"Were you even going to say goodbye?" Ethos asked as he and Abel crowded Deimos in; cutting off any escape, save for plowing right through them.

"I was going to," Deimos hedged. "Later."

"You're leaving tomorrow," Abel reminded him.

Deimos sighed, leaned back against the wall, his eyes slipping shut. When he opened them again, Abel and Ethos looked quickly away from each other.

"What?"

"You shouldn't be scared," Abel said. "You know what you're doing, and…Athos does too." His tone soured the slightest bit, but Deimos could almost ignore it.

"I'm not scared," Deimos lied.

Neither of them looked convinced, but they both nodded. Deimos found himself amused; navigators really were a different breed.

'That's good," Ethos said, "but, you know, nerves are normal…a little bit of nerves are good."

"Right," Abel chimed in. "That's true; people usually perform at their best when they're at least a bit nervous. It helps with—"

"Abel."

He broke off, smiling sheepishly. "You'll be fine," he said. "I know it."

Ethos nodded just beside him, both of them so flushed and wide-eyed; hopeful.

"You should probably get back," Ethos said then, glancing at his watch. "You have a long day ahead of you."

Deimos sighed, nodded, and then they both walked him back to his room. They said goodbye quickly, with minimal smiles and quiet voices. Abel gripped Deimos' fingers just before they left, squeezing gently, then they were gone.

Athos was curled on the bottom bunk again, but he didn't look up when Deimos entered, not even when Deimos slipped off his clothes and pushed in behind him. He was prepared to ward Athos off; too exhausted to fuck, too jittery, but it didn't seem as though Athos was in the mood either.

Deimos sighed when Athos didn't look at him, closed his eyes and tried to shut off his brain so he could sleep. But then Athos was rolling over, pushing up against Deimos' side. He opened his eyes, found Athos blinking at him in the darkness, hovering just within reach.

Deimos ran a hand through the blond hair, felt his fingers catch at the small tangles before sliding through again. Athos was quiet for once; oddly quiet, a dead giveaway that something was wrong. It was what made Deimos cup both hands around Athos' face, draw him forward and kiss him.

Athos sighed, sagging against Deimos' body and tilting his head to deepen the kiss, one hand wrapping around Deimos' wrist. Deimos could feel him start to get desperate, could feel him start to want more, shifting against Deimos' hip, sliding forward to straddle him.

Deimos pulled away. "Not tonight," he said. "Tonight we should sleep." He pulled Athos close, though, to assure him it wasn't a rejection, running a hand through that soft hair as Athos started to relax again.

"Good night," Athos said, breath wafting against Deimos chest.

Deimos continued to stroke his hair, waiting for sleep to claim him, but it was a long time in coming.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so it doesn’t seem as though Deimos and EMG are part of the blue team, BUT IF THEY WERE…

The speed with which Athos turned off the alarm the next morning assured Deimos that he had been awake to watch it go off, just as Deimos had. Athos rolled up, sheets sliding into his lap as he crawled to the end of the bed, avoiding Deimos altogether as he left the room and entered the bathroom.

Deimos listened to the shower turn on, noted that the door to the bathroom was still open. He took it as the invitation it was meant to be, slipping in after Athos and joining him in the shower. Athos didn't turn around, kept his hands planted against the wall and his head bent under the spray of the showerhead. Water sluiced over his hair and down his back, and for a moment, Deimos just watched it cascade down the steps of his spine.

Then he stepped forward, skirting around Athos so he could get under the spray as well. Athos frowned, blinking water out of his eyes, leaning back far enough to let Deimos duck his head under. Then he leaned back in, pushing his mouth to Deimos': quick and tight-lipped, not so much a kiss as a meeting of wet skin.

He was still frowning when he drew back, lips pulling down at the corners, scowling down at the shower drain. Deimos tipped his head back, eyes sliding closed. When he opened them again, he was surprised to find that he was alone.

Athos jumped up from the bed when Deimos exited the bathroom, walking to the dresser in nothing but his underwear as though he had been heading there all along, instead of staring at the opposite wall while he dried his hair. They didn't speak as they got ready, pulling on their flight suits in the semi-darkness of the room.

Deimos kept glancing at Athos; his tightly clenched jaw and shaking hands, fumbling to get his zipper up as far as it would go. Even as he turned his back to Deimos, shifting his still-damp hair out of the way and waiting, he didn't say a word. Deimos finished zipping his suit just as quietly, fingers brushing against the back of Athos' neck.

Athos stepped away a second later, though. He pulled on his gloves, shoulders tense as he leaned over the dresser, not moving.

"Are—" Deimos broke off at the sound of the com turning on.

"Blue team report to flight deck immediately. Please acknowledge."

"Acknowledged," Athos said at once, voice tight. It was the only thing he had said all morning, and when he turned toward the door in the next moment, Deimos sensed that would be the only thing he  _would_  say.

He sighed, watched as Athos lifted his chin and exited the room, his face stony. Deimos trailed out after him, following his sharp walk all the way down to the flight deck.

They fighters and navigators were briefed together by Encke and Keeler, going through the basics all over again; beating the same instructions into their heads for the thousandth time. Deimos glanced at Athos partway through. His face was still emotionless, hands balled into fists at his sides.

Then they were dismissed, and Deimos and Athos were breaking away and heading toward the ship. Deimos lengthened his stride to draw up beside him, ignoring the other soldiers who were talking quietly around them, heading to their own ships. He and Athos climbed up into the Ares, but Deimos paused before settling in.

He glanced around when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He found the source of his discomfort within moments. Cain was standing above on one of the rickety upper levels near the ceiling, overlooking the flight deck. He wasn't alone, a handful of other people standing beside him, all anxious to watch them take off.

Cain smirked when Deimos caught his eye. He was leaning over the black, metal guardrail, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He raised a few fingers to his forehead and then flicked them forward, giving Deimos a condescending salute.

Deimos grimaced, then lowered himself into the Ares, settling into his seat behind Athos. He could hear Athos shifting around, fingers moving over buttons and gears. The hatch closed.

Deimos swallowed, could feel his heart pick up speed. His hands weren't shaking though, at least not as much as Athos' this morning. When Athos finally went still and quiet, Deimos glanced back. He couldn't see anything but Athos' arms and legs from this angle, had no idea what his face looked like, but he could guess.

Deimos cleared his throat. "Remember to breathe."

He heard Athos huff out a little breath. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked. "How stupid do you think I am?"

"Athos—"

"Breathing is a reflex, not a choice. Why don't you tell me to keep my heart beating while you're at it?"

"Keep your heart beating, then," Deimos snapped. His voice, weak enough already, broke halfway through.

Silence, then Athos sucked in another breath. "Deimos—"

"Blue team, at the ready," Encke's voice crackled across the com.

Deimos heard more shifting gears and the dull  _tap, tap, tap_  of Athos' fingers moving across the touchscreen controls. The ship lurched, starting to wheel around. Deimos strapped himself in, readying his own controls.

Encke ushered them out in groups of two and threes, and Deimos watched the ships in front of them leave the base, falling into the blackness of space. They kept moving forward slowly, Athos' breathing growing louder in the confined space of the ship.

When Encke's voice came through the speakers again, Deimos tensed. They were next; he could feel it. Right on cue, Encke said, "Ares, go."

Deimos turned around, watched as the other ships got farther away. He could still see Cain, hard gaze just watching them, cigarette in his hand now. He wasn't smiling. Then he was too far to decipher his expression, the Ares pulling out into open space, the base falling away entirely.

Deimos gripped his controls again, peering out into the deep, impenetrable blackness. Behind him, Athos let out a slow breath. They kept quiet for a long time; no noise inside the ship except for their quiet breathing and the steady  _beep, beep, beep_  of the machines.

They made their way to their assigned route, Athos guiding them smoothly through the darkness. Eventually, Athos cleared his throat and said, "It's always better…out here."

Deimos stayed silent, even when he understood exactly what Athos meant. It didn't matter, though, since Athos wasn't finished.

"I wasn't scared this morning."

Deimos let himself smile, knowing Athos wouldn't see it.

"I just didn't want you to distract me. This is important." He huffed out a breath. Deimos heard the creak of his harnesses as he shifted in his seat. "At least I thought it was…" he mumbled.

Deimos frowned, took his eyes off the window to glance back at Athos. "What do you mean?"

He snorted. "Does it look like there are any Colterons lurking out here? Just a waste of fuel."

Deimos turned back to his window, keeping an eye out. It didn't matter whether Athos was right or not; he had a job to do. They both did.

"Better hope Cook's not listening," Deimos said. "He dislikes you enough as it is."

Athos made an annoyed noise. "Cook doesn't like  _anyone_."

Deimos just waited, knew what was coming next.

Sure enough, a moment later, Athos added, "Except his little cock-sucking protégé."

"You're cute when you're bitter," Deimos said, smiling again.

"Oh, fuck off," Athos snapped.

In the silence that followed, Deimos turned back to scanning his surroundings. He thought he could see light far off in the distance; a star or another ship, he couldn't be sure. He glanced down at the panel in front of him, saw that the radar was picking up another Alliance vessel. He relaxed.

Just when he thought Athos was going to ignore him the rest of the trip, he said, "I'm not  _bitter_."

Deimos held back the laugh that threatened to escape, pressing his lips together. Cain didn't understand why he liked Athos; too tied up in all Ethan's affairs to see Athos as anything more than the asshole who liked to jerk his navigator around. Then again,  _no one_  liked Athos

It was moments like these that Deimos liked; when Athos' petulance was exposed for the insecurity that it really was, when he was truly himself; vulnerable and never ready to go down without a fight. And Deimos always did like a good fight.

"I'm only being honest," he said. "Just because no one else—"

Deimos tensed when Athos broke off, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. "What is it?"

Athos was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his tone was formal and steady. "I thought—" Suddenly he gasped.

Deimos was thrown against his harnesses as the ship dropped unexpectedly, his stomach rolling. He clenched his hands tight around the controls, trying to see anything except for the darkness.

"Athos," he gasped, wasn't even sure if Athos could hear him over the sudden  _whoosh_  of the thrusters. "Athos, what the hell are you doing?"

Athos didn't appear to hear him, though, voice frantic as he said, "Ares to Command Central. Enemy ship spot—"

Deimos swung around again, searching for any sign of movement outside, but he couldn't see a thing. "Athos, are you—"

There was a sudden crack, and just afterward Deimos felt himself get tugged upward, his harness straining as he was pulled toward the ceiling. He felt a sudden bone-deep cold, and he thought he understood. He reached up, hit the red button above his head. The emergency shields lowered. Deimos fell back in his seat.

"Athos—" He realized suddenly that something was still wrong. In the depths of space, he couldn't tell which direction was which, but his controls were saying they were heading down, spiraling away from the station, falling far out of formation.

Deimos unbuckled himself quickly because CC was coming in through the speakers, but Athos wasn't responding, not one sound.

He rounded his seat, pushing down the fear, the encroaching knowledge that what he was about to see wouldn't be anything good. He was right.

Deimos could handle blood; blood had never been a problem for him. Still, seeing the skin at Athos' forehead torn away, bits of blond hair turned red, made his stomach drop.

"This is CC to the Ares," a voice was saying over the com. "You've engaged the emergency shields and are falling out of formation. What's your status?"

Deimos pushed Athos legs apart, sinking down into the seat in front of him, feeling Athos' chest at his back. Deimos couldn't tell if he was breathing or not, couldn't think about it.

"Enemy ships," Deimos said over the com. "Ath—my navigator saw them. We were hit."

There was a long pause, nothing but silence. Deimos looked at the controls in front of him in confusion, trying to remember all the tidbits of information he'd acquired over the years.

He could never be a navigator; too many hours in a lab and not enough time for the  _fight_ ; they were all so soft…but still, he liked the controls, he liked knowing how to do things. He had learned what he could about navigating, things Athos and his other navigators taught him, but it wasn't the same as seeing everything laid out before him, just waiting to be used.

"CC to the Ares, get back into formation. Alliance ships are heading to your location."

Deimos didn't say anything about Athos, couldn't bring himself to say anything; especially not when even he wasn't sure how bad Athos was. It looked bad, looked fucking terrible; skin blasted away, white bone at Athos' temple showing, head sagging to the side, but Deimos didn't say anything about any of that.

There were too many buttons in front of him, too many things he didn't understand. He raised his hands, pressed his fingers to the touchscreen in front of him, for that was the most important part of the ship; he knew that much, at least. More buttons erupted beneath him, more options.

Deimos frowned, thinking, trying to ignore the reports coming in through the radio.

"Ares, we're heading—"

"CC to all ships in—"

"Enemy ships sighted at Omega Cas, request—"

Deimos didn't hear anything more than that, his attention diverted as something hit the ship again, sending him hard to the ground. He saw Athos' limbs and hair jerk and swing, his body held to the seat only by the harnesses still tight around him.

The ship was spiraling worse now, far out of control. Deimos raised himself onto his knees and started pressing buttons again, sliding his fingers across the touchscreen, head aching where it had smacked hard against the side of the ship. His vision swam, the voices still coming in over the speakers, and all the while Athos was just there, just behind him…unmoving.

"This is CC to the ship Ares, do you—"

But Deimos had found it, finally understood the words he was seeing on the screen, and when he dragged his hands around, the ship followed suit, the panel in front of him telling him where to go, showing him the other ships. The Ares was shaking, though, and a notice in red had appeared in the upper right-hand corner:  _Structural Integrity: 71%._

Deimos swallowed, swung the ship around and headed on a course back to the base. Over the com, Command said, "CC to ships at Omega Cas: neutralize target and return to the base. All other ships report back to base immediately."

Deimos gritted his teeth, kept his hands on the touchscreen, not quite sure if the tremble he could see was from himself or the ship, or both.

They made it back to base. He didn't know how, only knew that when he got close enough, someone had to talk him through the landing over the com, someone who actually knew what the fuck they were doing.

As soon as they set down, Deimos turned, whole ship spinning as his head throbbed. He fumbled with the belts and buckles holding Athos to his seat, brushing his hair back, touching his skin. He was cold, but Deimos didn't know if that was from the chill of the ship or something else entirely.

He got a grip on Athos' neck, looking for a pulse, ignoring the gaping wound at his forehead, just trying to find  _something_. The hatch opened before he could.

Medics came in, two of them grabbing Deimos hard by the arms and jerking him outside. His stomach rolled at the motion, heart beating painfully fast, which was the only reason why he didn't fight them harder.

They shoved him down onto a gurney, and Deimos could hear voices all around him, shouts and the mumble of other soldiers just getting back. Then they were lifting Athos out, someone already examining his head, face grave.

Deimos sat up, swung a leg over the side of the gurney, shoved away the medic who tried to push him back down.

"Ares," one of them snapped, but Deimos had enough, tried to get to Athos again and found himself restrained. He slipped his knife out before he'd thought better of it, and the medics dropped him at once, backing away. The looks on their faces made it clear that it wasn't worth it.

He ran after Athos as he was wheeled away, head throbbing in time with the quick beating of his heart. No one tried to stop him again; no one tried to get in his away. Without an obstacle to focus on, Deimos had no way to distance himself from the fear; cold and numbing, making its way through his veins. In a way, he was almost disappointed. He always did like a good fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurrr headcanon is that the ships have some sort artificial gravity, which is why it would make sense for Deimos to be flung around rather than float gracefully through the ship. (Physics? Da phuck is dat?)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asldkjfs; CHOPPY AS FUCK--so sorry! D:

The medical ward was cold and quiet. The only sounds Deimos could hear were a few people whispering quietly on the other side of the curtain surrounding Athos' bed. Every now and then someone else would come in; white doors swooshing open and fluttering the bottom of the drape between beds, but Deimos tried to ignore it. Still, even in whispers, he knew what everyone was talking about; the only thing that had anyone's attention recently.

"At Omega Cas—"

"Not sure how many—"

"I heard at least three—"

"The Commanders are preparing—"

Deimos scooted his chair closer to the bed, scraping it across the floor until the whispering died down. He rested his elbows on the white sheets, eyes raking over Athos' pallid skin and pale lips. The medics had to shave some of Athos' hair for his surgery, little bald patch at his temple and a fresh suture standing out against his pale skin. Deimos waited until the doctors had left before shifting his hair around, covering up the stitches because he knew Athos would throw a fit if he woke up and saw himself like that.

After that, he had sunk back in the seat, unsure what to do; nothing he could do but sit, watch, and wait. The doctors didn't know when Athos was going to wake up; the doctors didn't know if Athos was  _ever_  going to wake up, but Deimos didn't think about that.

It seemed too easy that way—too quick and simple when Athos never liked to do anything without bitching and putting up a fight. For Athos to give up now without any warning, without making Deimos listen to him whine and complain, just seemed so out of character.

Deimos didn't know how long he waited before the curtain around Athos' bed swished back and a medic came in. He shot Deimos a perfunctory glance before heading straight toward Athos, long syringe in hand. When he lowered the needle to Athos' arm, Deimos got to his feet, reached across Athos' prone form to grab the medic's wrist.

The other startled, jaw clenching. Deimos ignored it, kept his grip firm as he asked, "What is that?"

"An antibiotic," the medic said, needle still hovering above Athos' arm. He twisted his arm a bit, trying to pull away from Deimos' grip, but Deimos held on. "He needs it," the medic added, flushed and annoyed, not quite looking Deimos in the eye.

Deimos glanced at Athos again; hollow cheeks and pale lank hair around his face. He seemed fine, but Deimos' small distraction was all the medic needed: he freed himself from Deimos grip and had given Athos the shot before Deimos knew what was happening.

He looked back at Athos again, but nothing was different; the shallow, barely noticeable rise and fall of his chest was still there, the heart monitor was still beeping steadily. The medic scuttled out before Deimos could give him another look. Deimos sank back into his seat, putting his elbows back on the bed, sitting quietly. He didn't have training today; Encke throwing him a bone and giving him a day off for nearly dying—as if he were doing Deimos some great favor. Deimos took it, though, spent the day with Athos because he didn't have anywhere else to be.

Deimos knew it must have been past 1800 hours when Abel and Ethos showed up. A fleeting thought entered Deimos' mind, making him wonder why they hadn't come earlier, but with enemy ships spotted so close, he supposed it was lucky they hadn't been kept in the lab all night.

Abel let out a breath as soon as he saw Deimos, sitting down in the chair next to him, eyes flicking over his face. "Are you all right?" Deimos didn't get a chance to respond before Abel went on. "We would have come earlier—"

"But we only just got out of the lab," Ethos cut in. "The commanders are…tense."

Deimos glanced at Athos again, still unmoving, pale as death.

"What happened out there?" Abel asked. He was tentative, obviously ready to back off the subject if Deimos didn't want to talk about it.

Deimos swallowed, didn't take his eyes away from Athos, even when Abel raised a hand and brushed back the hair at Deimos' forehead, his fingers pushing at the white gauze around Deimos' head.

"Athos saw a ship," he said. "We were hit…." A pause. "He was hit."

Ethos frowned and settled at the foot of Athos' bed, glancing at his prone figure. "Is he going to be OK?"

Deimos didn't answer, didn't even try to answer. When Abel put a hand over his, he just let it happen, but didn't reciprocate. Ethos gave him a sympathetic look. Deimos ignored that too.

None of them moved, or spoke, until the curtain whooshed back again, and Cain stepped up to Athos' bedside. Ethos took one look at Cain's dark gaze and promptly stood up from the bed.

"Um, I should…." He backed out without finishing the sentence, pausing just long enough to say, "Deimos, I'm—I'm glad you're OK." Then, all the while keeping his eyes averted from Cain, he backed out, the curtain swishing closed behind him.

Cain didn't even seem to notice Ethos' departure. His eyes flicked over Athos without much interest before settling on Deimos and Abel. Deimos shifted his hand, tried to pull it out from under Abel's, but Abel held tight, gaze hard and fixed on Cain.

"So you're fine, then?" Cain said, strolling around the end of the bed to plant himself in front of Deimos.

Deimos nodded, tried not to squirm as Cain examined him, sharp eyes focusing on the bandage around Deimos' head for a moment before his gaze shifted to Abel.

"And what the hell are you doing here? When did you two become girlfriends?"

The look Abel pinned on Cain then was highly unimpressed. "We're friends," he said.

A tick started up in Cain's jaw and he glared down at their hands. "Looks like more than that," he gritted out.

"It isn't," Deimos said at once, trying to pull away from Abel once more, but Abel shot him a look and held firm.

"If you're just here to be a bastard, you can leave," Abel said.

Cain reared back, eyes bulging. He opened his mouth, but Abel dropped Deimos' hand and got to his feet, speaking before Cain had a chance. "Can't you just tell him you're happy to see him and get on with it?"

"Can't—" Cain started, voice failing even as his mouth kept working. Then he clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing. "Who says I'm happy to see him?"

Abel sucked in a breath, and even though Deimos couldn't see his face, he could imagine the pained look there, the same pained look that he was sure must be on his own face.

"Cain, don't—" Abel started.

"Who says I'm happy he's still—"

Deimos stood up, chair scraping against the floor, drowning out the rest of Cain's sentence, even when he knew exactly what he said.

After a long moment, Abel turned toward Deimos again, his face tense. "I'm…. We'll go." He leaned forward before Deimos could ward him off, pressing his lips to Deimos' cheek, so quick that Cain's choked little noise was the only reason Deimos knew he hadn't imagined it.

Then Abel was pulling back, stalking past Cain and shoving back the curtains. Cain's eyes tracked his progress across the room, returning to Deimos once Abel had exited the medical ward and was out of sight.

Cain gave him an indecipherable look, lips pressed tight together. "Just go," Deimos said. He slumped back into the chair, all the fight leaving him, eyes back on Athos.

He startled when a hand cupped his face, sweep of one calloused thumb over the curve of his cheek. Then Cain turned and left, hurrying back to Abel, leaving Deimos sitting alone to watch Athos' still form, his head throbbing.

#

Deimos was back at work the next day, his reflexes still slow and sloppy from the blow to his head, making sure that sparring practice was a total nightmare and giving him a bruised rib and a sprained finger to go along with the goose egg on the back of his head. When he saw Cain, he didn't say anything, but when they were put against each other on the mats, Cain's blows never landed as hard as usual, or even missed Deimos entirely. He could have been having an off day, or it could have been an apology. Deimos chose to take it as the latter, knowing that with Cain, that apology would be the only one he was likely to get.

#

It was a relief to be back in his room at the end of the day. Deimos had just stripped down to his underclothes, about to put on his fatigues, when the door suddenly hissed open. He looked around, one hand automatically reaching for his knife, but then Athos was suddenly stumbling through, his hand clumsily knocking against the touchpad so the door closed again, just a second before he fell against it.

"What are you doing?" Deimos asked, dropping the knife again, stepping toward Athos. "When were you released?"

Athos rolled his eyes and pushed away from the door, sprawling across the bottom bunk, burrowing in the pillow and glancing at Deimos over his shoulder. Deimos frowned as he stood looking down on him. He could just make out the suture on Athos' forehead, but Athos had pulled his hair back; little tuft of hair held at the back of his head with a rubber band, partially obscuring the bald patch.

"When were you released?" Deimos asked again.

Athos' eyes closed for a long moment, then he rolled onto his side, falling heavily against the wall. Deimos jerked forward, tried to grab him before his head could connect, but was too late. Athos frowned, eyes going out of focus for a moment as he lifted a hand and prodded at his stitches.

"Hey." Deimos sat down on the bed and pulled Athos' hand away from his face.

Athos scowled and tried to shake him off, but Deimos held on.

"Don't touch your stitches," he said. "You're going to pull them out."

Athos snorted, eyes rolling again. "What, you care now? Where were you  _hours_ ago when I got out of medical?"

"I was busy," Deimos said, held tight when Athos tried to pull his arm away again. "I was  _working_."

Athos did manage to pull away this time, his arm jerking out of Deimos' grasp. Deimos winced in sympathy with the force of it, with Athos' flesh twisting under of his hand, but Athos didn't even seem to notice. Deimos frowned and examined Athos closer; his flushed cheeks and glassy, unfocused gaze.

"Did medical give you something?" he asked.

Athos sat up suddenly, gripping the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head, struggling for a moment before he managed to pull it away from his head and toss it to the ground. He lounged back against the wall, one hand rubbing at the blond hairs beneath his navel, eyes heavy-lidded. "Mmmm, not medical," he said, leaning forward, putting his face close to Deimos'.

Deimos pulled back when he caught a whiff of Athos' breath. "You're drunk. You can't get  _drunk_ , you just had surgery."

"Seems like the best time," Athos said, fingers on his stomach dropping lower to rub along the waistband of his pants. "Got to enjoy it while I still can, you know?"

Deimos frowned. "Did Porthos give it to you?"

A slow smile bloomed across Athos' face. He shrugged, both hands falling to his pants now and pushing them off, kicking them down his legs and off the bed, leaving him in nothing but a pair of tight briefs. "I don't remember." He rolled forward, pressing his chest to Deimos' and looping an arm around Deimos' neck. "So where's my welcome home present?" he asked against Deimos' lips.

Deimos didn't answer, just let Athos mouth against the edge of his lips and down his jaw for a minute before he pulled back. Athos scowled and tried to draw him back in, arm tightening around Deimos' neck, but Deimos broke free easily, standing up and leaving Athos to awkwardly catch himself on the bed.

"What the hell?" Athos asked, glaring up at Deimos past a piece of hair that had come loose from the rubber band.

Deimos just shook his head, made to climb up onto the upper bunk, but then Athos caught as his undershirt, keeping him in place.

"Sleep with me," he said.

Deimos hesitated, met Athos' glassy gaze, eyes flicking up to examine his suture. "I don't think…."

Athos just tightened his hold on Deimos' shirt, pulling down, stretching it out, and Deimos eventually dropped back to the bottom bunk with a sigh. He let Athos pull him down and roll up against his side, yanking the sheets over them and falling silent. Deimos had just begun to drift off when he felt Athos' hand moving down over his stomach, getting inexorably lower, but Deimos caught his fingers before it happened, dragging the hand up to his chest.

Athos made a little snickering noise against Deimos' neck, resettling himself against Deimos' side and nudging his groin against Deimos' hip, then he sighed and fell still. Deimos glanced at him, got a face full of blonde hair and an up-close few of the closed gash on his head. He looked away again, wasn't sure how long he just lay there feeling Athos' warmth against his side, and the little fluttering of his eyelashes against Deimos' throat before Deimos hit the control panel near his head, dimming the lights, and finally fell asleep as well.

It felt as though he'd only been out for a few minutes when Deimos started to rouse again. He frowned in the darkness, shifting against the mattress to find a heavy weight pressing him down. His eyes flew open, body fighting automatically against being restrained. He pushed out at the thing holding him down, only realized when someone made a disgruntled noise and rolled away from him, the weight suddenly lifting, that it was Athos.

"Ow," he whined, and Deimos couldn't see his face in the darkness, but he could imagine the annoyed look. "What the hell?"

Deimos struggled upright, heart still beating faster than normal. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to blow you," Athos snapped.  _"Sorry_ , I won't let it happen again."

"You—you're—what?" Deimos rubbed a hand over his face, then touched the glowing controls next to the bed, turning the lights up high enough to get a look at Athos' face.

His hands were behind his head, redoing his hair, gaze agitated and fixed on Deimos.

Deimos waited until Athos lowered his hands, waited until the silence between them grew taut and awkward, before he said, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm not drunk anymore, if that's what you're asking," he said, sounding intensely annoyed.

Deimos frowned. "That's not what I'm asking."

Athos shrugged and crossed his legs. He gripped the sheet with both hands and jerked it free of the mattress, wrapping it around his shoulders and exposing Deimos' toes to the chill of the room. "I'm alive," he said. "So I'm fine."

Deimos scooted closer to him, mirroring Athos' position on the bed and pulling the other end of the sheet over his own shoulders, their knees pressing together.

Athos just watched him, eyes sharp and suspicious as Deimos finally stopped moving, face-to-face with each other on the bed. Then one side of Athos' mouth twitched up in a smirk. "So about that blowjob…."

He leaned forward, but Deimos put a hand on his shoulder to stop him, still frowning. "You don't have to pretend," he said. "You could have died."

Athos scowled, rearing back, the sheet pulling tight around them. "I  _didn't_ die," he said. "What, do you want me to thank you? You were saving your own ass just as much as mine, so sorry if I don't—don't— _kiss your ring_  on bended knee."

The vents whirred quietly in the background as Deimos searched for something to say, something that would make things better for once, instead of worse. In the end, all he could think of was, "That's not what I want. I just meant—"

"Yeah, I know what you meant," Athos spat, and the look he pinned Deimos with then was filled with so much venom that Deimos could practically  _feel_  it; sharp sting in his chest.

"You're just worried you'll have to get a new navigator if I crack up," Athos continued. "Well, I'm  _fine_ , so you're stuck with me. You just do your job, and I'll keep on doing mine."

Deimos opened his mouth, unsure what he was going to say, but it didn't matter when Athos kept going.

" _I'm_  the one who saw those enemy ships," he said. " _I'm_  the one who told Command about them. Without me, we'd just be sitting ducks—who knows if anyone else would have seen—"

But Deimos had heard enough. Athos was getting red in the face, his scowl deep, and Deimos was certain he was just one more diatribe away from popping a stitch. So Deimos shut him up; grabbed the little tail of hair at the back of Athos' head and pulled him forward because there was one only one way Deimos knew of to distract Athos, and it always worked.

Athos put up a cursory resistance at first. Deimos played along, let Athos pull away and glare at him, tongue darting out to lick at his lips. Then he curled forward, white sheet going slack and falling across Athos' back as he leaned over Deimos' lap, hot breath pooling at his groin.

Deimos swallowed, moved back when Athos pushed at his legs, making more room for Athos to straighten his spine and pull at Deimos' shorts; pulling them down as far as he could. Then he paused, warm breath gusting across Deimos' slowly-hardening cock as his eyes flicked upward.

Another piece of blond hair fell loose, fluttering in front of Athos' eyes before Deimos pushed it behind his ear. Athos licked his lips again, and even in the dimness of the room, Deimos could make out the flush that flooded his cheeks just before Athos dropped his gaze and applied his mouth.

Deimos let it happen just like that; Athos' warm mouth wrapped around him, one of his hands ghosting over the inside of one of Deimos' thighs, the other rubbing hard against the front of his briefs.

He moaned when Athos took him to the root, toes curling against the mattress, sucked in a breath when Athos pulled back and then bore down again. Deimos slipped a hand beneath the sheet to rub down the length of Athos' spine, feeling him shiver in response and moan around Deimos' cock.

He didn't last long, not with Athos moaning around him, pulling back to tease the tip with his lips and then quickly lowering to take him all in; swallowing around the head. He came with a little groan, curling around Athos' head, rubbing fingers through his hair and disheveling it more, pulling more locks free of the elastic.

Athos didn't seem to care, just pulled away with one last, soft little lick to the underside of Deimos' shaft, making him shiver. He sat up afterwards, pushing his hair out of his face, gaze sharp. He put a hand down the front of his pants while Deimos watched, easing his cock out and leaning back against the wall, the sheet falling from around his shoulder to settle against the bed again.

Deimos reached forward, put one hand on Athos' shoulder and reached the other toward his cock, but Athos shook his head, pushed Deimos away with his unoccupied hand. "Don't," he said, hand jerking himself hard, breath coming out in little pants. "Don't—I just—just let me—"

Deimos hesitated, hand tightening on Athos' shoulder. He nodded, wasn't sure Athos even saw it since he was staring down, gaze fixed on the mattress. Deimos leaned forward, kept his other hand to himself, but pressed his forehead against Athos' temple.

A broken little gasp, then Athos was pushing back, nestling his forehead in the crook of Deimos' neck, and panting down his chest. The sharp, slick sound of his hand working brutally hard on himself the only thing Deimos could hear. He didn't interrupt again, didn't try to be part of it, just let Athos do it himself, let him shake and whimper and come, hot breath dampening the side of Deimos' neck.

Deimos didn't move while Athos came down from it all, wasn't sure what his next move was. Tentatively, he ran a hand over Athos' back, gratified when Athos sighed and nudged in closer. He wiped his hand against the mattress and then wrapped his arms around Deimos' waist, leaning against him.

"It's OK," Deimos said, wasn't sure why he felt the need to say it, awkward with how it came out, but Athos sighed again, hair tickling against Deimos' collarbone when he shifted, maybe nodding.

His arms tightened around Deimos, lips brushing against his neck. He said, "I'm fine. I'm…fine," in a slow, quiet voice.

Deimos didn't believe it—knew Athos didn't believe it either—but there was nothing more for him to say. He rubbed at Athos' back again, used his other hand to search out one of Athos'. After a moment's resistance, Athos gave in, sliding his fingers through Deimos' and gripping tight.


	5. Chapter 5

Athos was gone when Deimos woke up the next morning. He hoped silently as he ran a hand over the cool sheets beside him that he had gone back to medical. In reality, Deimos was certain that wasn't the case. He got ready alone, leaning his hands against the wall of the shower and letting the water sluice over him, getting cold too fast, always too fast.

Training was only marginally more interesting than usual, mostly because with everyone on edge, Encke was quicker to point out flaws, barking at anyone who so much as glanced at him the wrong way. Cain sidled toward Deimos a bit before their lunch hour, not saying anything, not looking at Deimos, accompanying him to the mess as if nothing had ever happened between them. Cain didn't speak to him as they got their food, hardly even looked at him. It wasn't until Deimos started to head toward the fighters' side that Cain finally grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"Come on." He tilted his head toward the opposite end of the mess, and Deimos glanced toward where he had indicated, saw Ethos and Abel sitting at one end of a long table, eating alone.

"You...want to?" he asked.

Cain just rolled his eyes, said, "Tch," and started walking away. Deimos steeled himself for an uncomfortable lunch, and followed.

Partway across the mess and Deimos slowed, glancing around. Almost at once, he caught an eager, penetrating gaze fixed on him. Athos hadn't been to medical—Deimos could see that at once. He was ashen, hair still tied behind his head, dark rings under his eyes. He was sitting just one table away from Abel and Ethos, watching Deimos get nearer.

Then Deimos stopped, set his tray down beside Ethos, across from Cain, and Athos blinked. His gaze shuttered, he looked away. He didn't look upset at all, didn't look any different than usual, really, so Deimos told himself that things were fine between them, that Athos was fine. When Deimos left the mess again to head back downstairs, Athos didn't look up.

#

Deimos wasn't quite sure how he found himself on the navigators' level after training. He had some half-formed ideas about talking to Athos, walking him back to their room, but he had barely stepped out of the lift before the sounds of shouting drove everything else from his mind.

Deimos quickened his steps, followed the sound because he had listened to enough of Athos' bitching to differentiate his affected, snotty tone from everyone else's. He rounded the corner and felt his stomach drop.

Both Athos and Porthos were there, blond and shoulder-to-shoulder, facing down a red-faced Cain, who already looked as though he was on the verge of snapping. Both Athos and Cain were shouting, the din echoing around the metal corridor, almost completely drowning out the sound of Deimos' feet as he rushed toward them.

Cain's tirade broke off as soon as he caught sight of the other fighter. "Deimos!" he said, and at that, Athos swung around to look behind him, angrily flushed, hair coming loose again. He wasn't as good at controlling his emotions this time around, glaring at Deimos before turning back to Cain.

Deimos slowed to a halt somewhere between them, not quite taking sides, even though Athos and Cain both shot him a nasty look for remaining neutral. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Your fucking _bitch_  is trying to ruin my rankings," Cain said at once, and Deimos could practically  _feel_  the anger coming off Athos at that.

"Just because Abel can't do his  _job_ —" Athos started, broke off when Cain lunged forward.

Deimos was at once grateful he had placed himself in between them, could throw an arm out and stop Cain from getting any closer. Cain was so incensed, so fixed on Athos, that he didn't even seem to care about Deimos holding him back, just said, "You fucking  _sabotaged him_ —if you suck at your job, that's your own fucking fault; leave my navigator out of it!"

Deimos frowned, glanced back at Athos, Athos who was still red, still panting, but who now looked maybe a little uncomfortable… _guilty_. "What'd you do?" Deimos asked.

Athos tore his gaze away from Cain, glared hard at Deimos. And then suddenly both of them were distracted by Abel's arrival, hurrying out of a nearby door and stepping beside Cain. He took one look at the scene and paled, eyes growing wide.

"Cain," he said quietly, "leave it. Come on." He put a hand out, resting it tentatively on Cain's elbow, not pulling as far as Deimos could see, not exerting any force, but still trying to guide him away.

Cain wasn't having it, jerked away from Abel, eyes still fixed on Athos. "If you fucked this up…" he started, voice low, upper lip curling back. "If you dropped us down in the rankings I'll—"

"You'll what?" Athos goaded, no fucking sense to him at all, didn't know anything about fighters, least of all Cain.

But Deimos knew Cain. He could feel him start to break, chest quivering against Deimos' arm where he was still holding him back. And then Cain lunged, did it too quickly for Deimos to push him back again. He didn't have time to do more than jump in front of Athos, facing Cain down.

Cain…almost didn't stop. For a moment, Deimos was almost certain Cain was going to hit him, but then he reared back, eyes flicking down to Deimos. "Move," he said, at the same time Athos muttered something behind him. Porthos said something in response, and then silence.

"Come on, Cain," Abel said before Deimos could respond. "It's not worth it…I'll talk to Keeler tomorrow, we'll figure it out."

But Cain had obviously stopped listening. Deimos suspected that this had become less about revenge for whatever Athos had done, and was now more about him venting his anger. "Move," he said again, voice low and dark, but making no move to get any closer.

Deimos stood his ground, even when behind him Athos made an annoyed noise loud enough for Deimos to hear. "I'm not moving."

And then suddenly Cain was shoving him back. Deimos stumbled, caught off-guard, not quite expecting Cain to go through with it. He didn't run into Athos, realized at the last moment he must have moved out of the way to give Deimos room to fall.

He caught himself though, managed to dodge the blow Cain threw at him, but Cain was always faster than Deimos anticipated, so the kick to the stomach was a surprise. He doubled over, just managed to jam a fist into Cain's stomach before Cain could take advantage of his weakness.

Either Cain hadn't expected Deimos to fight back, or that blow broke the tenuous hold he had on his anger, for suddenly any semblance of civility vanished in an instant. It took Deimos a kick to the shins and a hard backhanded blow across the face to really hammer the point home though, and suddenly his knife was out, slipping into his palm so easy, and Cain might have been quick, but Deimos was certain he wasn't expecting such a violent retaliation. When he sprang up, forward, hand flying out, Cain didn't jerk back in time; his arm didn't knock Deimos' aside fast enough to stop the knife from scraping across his cheek.

And then it was over. So quick, barely a handful of blows and then Cain just stopped, staring at Deimos while he lifted a hand to his face, wiping at the blood on his cheek. Abel was wide-eyed, mouth agape as he looked at the cut on Cain's face.

Then suddenly he grabbed Cain's arm and started to pull him away. Deimos didn't try to stop them, didn't say anything because Abel understood fighters, and most of all Cain. So when Cain stopped being so stunned, when Cain went out for blood, he was sure Abel could handle it, could calm him down.

Deimos was still staring down the hallway where Cain and Abel had disappeared, when someone said, "Well," just behind him.

He turned, watched as Porthos lit a cigarette and started to walk away. "That was interesting. I'll just leave you to it." He waved a casual hand over his shoulder, little trail of smoke following him as he retreated down the hallway, walking slowly toward the lifts.

Then Deimos looked to Athos. He was pressed up against the wall, jaw clenched and staring at the floor. When Deimos didn't drop his gaze, kept looking, Athos glanced up.

He sniffed and straightened away from the wall, following Porthos' path toward the lifts. Deimos sighed, took a step forward and then caught sight of the knife in his hand. He wiped the blade carefully against the black fabric at his arm, making sure there were no traces of blood left when he slid it back up his sleeve.

The journey back to their room was quiet. Athos didn't look at him, almost seemed  _angry_ , and Deimos was mentally preparing himself to listen to Athos bitch some more once they reached the privacy of their room.

He wasn't disappointed. The door had barely slid shut behind them when Athos turned, little pieces of blond hair fluttering around his face, skin under his stitches bright red.

"What the  _fuck_  was that?" he asked.

Deimos didn't answer, began slipping out of his suit and into his fatigues instead, caught off-balance when Athos grabbed his arm.

"If you expect me to thank you, think again."

Deimos snorted, slid his arm out of Athos' grip and kept undressing because he wasn't an idiot; he hadn't been expecting anything close to a thank you. Not from Athos. "So what'd you do?" he asked.

Athos huffed out an annoyed breath and sank down on the edge of the bed.  _"Nothing,"_  he said, but when Deimos kept quiet, didn't look at him, he went on. "I  _might have_  given Abel some false information about the new engine performance. Maybe."

Deimos looked up quick, saw Athos just barely glance at him, his cheeks flushing.

"It could have been an accident," Athos said, just as Deimos slipped on his fatigues and walked toward the bed.

Deimos paused just in front of him, their legs brushing, Deimos peering down at the top of Athos' head. "Was it?"

Athos didn't respond, but he didn't have to.

"Abel doesn't hate you," Deimos said. "You don't have to…." He trailed off, unsure how to finish.

Athos tipped his head back, and the gaze he fixed on Deimos then was sharper than he had expected. "Of course he doesn't. Probably doesn't even know the meaning of hate."

Deimos sat down beside Athos, keeping a few inches between them, examining the side of Athos' face when he turned his gaze back to the floor. "So?"

"I just wanted to fuck up their numbers," he muttered. "Whatever, it was stupid." A pause. "Got caught, anyway…."

"Why'd you do it, then?"

"Fuck off," Athos said, started to stand, but Deimos grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him back to the bed.

"Come on, there must have been a reason."

"Course there was, dumbass," Athos snapped, shooting a quick, hard look at Deimos. "If their numbers go down, ours go up, that's how it works."

Deimos frowned. When Athos tried to stand from the bed this time, Deimos didn't try to stop him. "Our numbers are fine."

"Yeah," Athos said, back to Deimos, arms crossed over his chest. Deimos watched the back of Athos' exposed neck flush bright red. "Fine, but not great."

"So, we'll work harder," he said. "There are other ways—"

"I don't want to be transferred again."

Deimos blinked, wondering if he'd really just heard that. Athos had said it so quietly, as though the words were so  _painful,_ Deimos wasn't immediately sure. However, the cold, awkward silence that followed the admission had Deimos certain he'd heard correctly. "Why would you think—"

"I just  _do_ ," Athos snapped, head turning to just barely look over his shoulder, still not meeting Deimos' eye. "The commanders are always shuffling me around, I just want—I just want—" He made a harsh, annoyed noise in his throat. "Never mind. Forget it."

Deimos opened his mouth, closed it again, watched Athos slowly tilt forward to lean his palms against the small dresser, his back tense. Deimos didn't say anything, didn't know  _what_ to say. He had no way to assuage Athos' fears of being transferred; he could only do so much, had to leave the rest—the important stuff—up to the higher-ups.

So Deimos stood up, walked to Athos and rested his hand on his tense shoulders, rubbing just a bit. Athos didn't relax, didn't do anything until Deimos began to pull the jacket down, required Athos' assistance to move his arms back. He obliged, a little stiffly, still not looking in Deimos' direction or turning around.

It wasn't until his jacket hit the floor and Deimos slid his palms beneath the back of Athos' shirt, did his shoulders finally sag; all the tension dissolving at once. He let Deimos turn him around, let Deimos push the little strands of hair away from his face, tucking them clumsily behind his ears.

When he led Athos back to the bed, Athos followed easily, letting Deimos pull him along. His eyes were unfocused, body warm and pliant when he rolled Deimos over and pushed on top of him. Athos lifted his head, their gazes catching. He waited for Deimos to kiss him before deepening it, making no move to do anything else, one hand brushing lazily through Deimos' hair.

When Athos finally pulled back, it was with a little sigh. He wrapped his arms around Deimos' waist and snuggled in close. It was still too early to sleep, but Athos didn't complain, blinking slowly, breathing deep, and Deimos decided it didn't really bother him either.

#

Deimos met Abel and Ethos a few days later, a few days after  _the incident_ , a few days before they began a true defensive into 'Teron space, now that they knew there were dangers lurking nearby. They met in a cramped little broom cupboard on one of the higher levels; the only place the three of them could meet without people looking at them too closely.

"How's Cain?" Deimos asked Abel as soon as they were situated. They hadn't been in the same training rotation since the fight, Deimos counting his lucky stars that Cain hadn't found an easy opportunity to give back what he got.

Abel shrugged. "He's…Cain," he said, which was about as accurate an answer as Deimos could have expected. Still, when pressed for specifics, Abel didn't come off as particularly concerned, so Deimos decided he shouldn't worry either.

There were other things to worry about, at any rate.

"I think it's starting soon," Ethos said, arms crossed over his chest, eyes wide. The single light above their heads cast long shadows across his face. "The  _war._ "

Abel blinked, a little line appearing between his eyebrows. "Well, the offensive had to happen eventually."

"Defensive," Deimos muttered.

Abel met his eyes. "Defensive," he agreed.

There was silence for a long moment, none of them moving. Then, Ethos said, "We've been training a lot. More than usual."

Abel nodded slowly, eyes fixed on a spot near the floor. "That's true."

Ethos sucked in a breath. "If anything happens—"

"Don't," Deimos said. "Don't."

Ethos bit his lip, nodded. The silence afterward was more tense than the first, more protracted. Then Abel clapped his hands once, Deimos and Ethos both startling at the sound, turning to look at him. Abel smiled. "Come on," he said. "I'm starving."

They left the closet, Ethos leading the way toward the mess. Abel caught Deimos eye before they reached the lifts, little smile still hovering around his mouth. His fingers caught Deimos' just for a moment, gripping tight, just a small point of comfort, of reassurance. Then they were in the lift, Abel's fingers slipping away, the warm relief they gave him still lingering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha, I know the ending is still a little open-ended, but honestly, that's the only way I could see it happening. Thanks so much for reading! <3 <3 <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Goodbyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/656816) by [elisetales](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisetales/pseuds/elisetales)




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